


In Love and War

by Merrinpippy



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle, BoFA, Gen, M/M, Not exactly the happiest fic you'll ever read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrinpippy/pseuds/Merrinpippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin searches for Bilbo, and Bilbo does likewise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Love and War

Battle was raging. Blades clashed, arrows sung. Death screams were heard throughout the valley. Blood, mud and broken bodies littered the ground. Brilliant blues combatted dull browns and greys. Among the fighting, Thorin Oakenshield led his companions in an unbeatable rampage, downing orc after orc. Their minds were as one, each one with their focus on each life their weapons ended. Except for their leader. His mind was a chaotic struggle- Gold fight burglar gold fight burglar gold fight burglar, over and over. His strikes were close to mechanic, practiced and engrained into his subconscious. He barely noticed a dwarf heaving a sigh of relief when Thorin cut his adversary down, nor the injured man ready for death in the middle of a warg pack that was slaughtered by his company. It was only the startled cry of Dwalin that brought him into full focus. The fight won over his mind, for now.

  
Bilbo Baggins had no internal struggle. Hack. Slash. His blade was the only thing keeping him alive, and even then, he was not doing as well as the Dwarf King. Panic and instinct were like waves and sand in his mind. A warg lunged for his side as he jumped back, and brought the blade down as hard as he could. Sting flashed from luminous blue to crimson, then back again. Every few seconds he would try to see over the sea of bodies to the Dwarf King but to no avail. He dodged a swing from a dying orc but side-stepped into a blade wielded by another, piercing an ugly hole in his side and drawing a worrying amount of blood. It cackled as it was beheaded by none other than Thranduil, who looked over Bilbo with concern (to the surprise of the hobbit). Thranduil paused in his fighting to check over Bilbo’s side, but was stopped by Bilbo suddenly jerking forward and driving his blade into a warg close to biting the Elvenking. They shared a small smile before turning so they were back to back and continuing as if they had been fighting together for more than mere seconds. Bilbo suspected that it was Thranduil’s presence that made him fight better, but he wasn’t complaining. The elf’s back pressed against his was reassuring and so far nothing had gotten through their combined efforts unscathed.

  
Thorin slashed his way through the battle having only gained a small cut here and there with no major injuries. His gaze fell on the burglar – Bilbo – back to back with the elf that mere hours ago was his enemy. As Thorin started to make his way towards the pair, strong hands grabbed him back (Dwalin) so he could only watch as the elf and hobbit were separated by a large throng of bats swarming them and those around them. Kili joined the elves in shooting them down and slowly the bats retreated upwards but remaining above the battlefield and encompassing the valley in a premature darkness, with the occasional rogue diving down to attack an unsuspecting man, dwarf or elf. Out of the corner of his eye Thorin saw Fili smirk and high-five his smug younger brother. Thorin looked back and cursed himself when he found he could not see his hobbit, and was thrown back into battle mode by a close call with an orc spear.

  
Thranduil spluttered with the sudden rush of black whipping around him. Suddenly he could not feel the warmth on his back anymore and allowed himself a moment of prayer for the hobbit before launching himself back into the fray. He doubted that Bilbo had seen the Dwarf King’s eyes on him, filled with fear for the small creature. _The gold sickness has subsided_ , he noted with a smile. If the hobbit and the Dwarf King survived, maybe the idiot would set aside his pride and made amends with the hobbit. Thranduil may not care much for the stubborn dwarves but the hobbit intrigued him with his stealth in his halls and then bravery with the Arkenstone. Even he could see the pureness of this ‘simple’ hobbit. Speaking of the hobbit-

  
For the second time in the battle, Bilbo met Thranduil, this time somewhat more disheveled. The Elvenking nudged Bilbo in the direction he had last seen Thorin and with a nod, Bilbo rushed forward, somehow managing to dodge the myriad of orc blades aimed for his head. It was at this point that Bilbo remembered the ring in his pocket. _This would have been useful earlier, too. Today has not been a good day for me_ , thought Bilbo as he slipped it on. He gasped at the familiar sensation as the few colours around him drained away, leaving Bilbo in a blurry and faded monochrome world. He steadied himself before leaping over the corpse of an unfortunate elven archer, unseeing eyes gazing upwards into the swarm of bats blocking out what remained of the sun. Bilbo flinched and slipped in the mud, hitting his head on a rock and sinking into unconsciousness.

  
Bard the Bowman had had enough of battle. Shooting Smaug had been enough for him really, _this_ was just too much. He thrust his short sword into a nearby orc before retreating to slightly higher ground. In the fray of battle, it was nigh impossible to get out a bow and arrow, but near the elves he could get into his element. His face remained as grim as ever as he pulled what he had left from his quiver. _It’s not much, but if I don’t use it now I may never get a chance to._ A few of his men still flanked him, so he turned to them and said, “Leave now! Join the fight! I stay here with the archers until my arrows are exhausted.” Reluctantly the men left his side but rejoined him seconds later as a cry rang out through the valley.

  
The orcs had reinforcements.

  
Every archer including himself swiftly turned and released arrows into the mass swarming the edges of the valley, taking down the first few rows. But the orcs kept coming, and by the time they had all come into the valley the men and elves had sheathed their bows and brought out their melee weapons. The fight started anew.

  
Thorin looked down, hearing something fall beside him. There was nothing there, to his confusion, and for the umpteenth time he berated himself for being paranoid. _There’s time for that after this battle is over._ If _I get out alive, of course._ Some of the company had broken off in groups, so it was just Fili, Kili, Ori, Nori and Dwalin still fighting beside him. He felt a rush of sadness that the young ones had to be dragged into battle, but at least they were backed up by an equal amount of more experienced fighters. Thorin’s fur coat was now drenched in the blood of his enemies, and there were crimson splatters upon his face. An unarmed orc lunged for his throat, and he stepped quickly backwards before striking down. The orc used his arm to shield Thorin’s attack and lunged again. This time the orc managed to touch him, but only got as far as scratching his neck before falling over, blood rushing from his head. Thorin turned to see a grinning Ori wielding a slingshot pointed at the dead orc. Thorin grinned back before slashing away again at the wargs in front of him. His fighting went back to being mechanical as his mind once more wandered to his hobbit. _How could I have been so blind?_ Thorin wondered. _Bilbo was right. The gold sickness had taken us all, but especially myself. I should have known, should have realized!_ His thoughts were cut short by a triumphant cry from the orcs of the battlefield and a familiar snarl, a few feet in front of him.

  
_The Defiler._

  
Bilbo regained consciousness to hear the snarl of _that thing_ , the Pale Orc, and the creature he had saved Thorin from. It seemed like lifetimes away, here in this unrelenting bloodshed. Bilbo stood up slowly, and even though he felt a dull pain in his head, he seemed okay enough to continue. He was near Fili, Kili and Ori. He thought he could see Dwalin and Ori a little way off. He saw more orcs and wargs entering the battlefield by the archers but quickly refocused himself. His priority was to get to Thorin. _At least I can try to amend what I have done, even with just a sentence. Maybe I won’t get to talk to him, maybe I can just fight beside him. Would he even let a traitor he banished from Erebor fight beside him at a time like this?_ He shook those thoughts from his head as he drew closer to the lone Dwarf King and the Pale Orc riding his white warg. His eyes widened in fear as he saw the fury fight resignation in Thorin’s eyes. _Is he giving up?!_ Bilbo stumbled closer and closer to them, trying to get there before Thorin could do something incredibly stupid like last time. He hesitated before remembering he still had the ring on. That meant that here, he had the advantage. Thorin and Azog raised their swords in unison but were interrupted by a cluster of men, elves, dwarves and orcs being forced between them. Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief before deciding to take advantage of his invisibility and fight his way to Thorin once more.

  
Let it not be said that Gandalf didn’t use his Wizard powers when they were needed. He smirked as he sent part of the battle flying into the space between the Dwarf King and the Pale Orc. He knew better than to let Thorin go into that battle by himself; even he could see that Thorin had half set himself up to fail. He slashed into a warg with his sword, then blinded another with his staff. Seconds later that warg was ended by one of the men he used to separate Thorin and Azog. He tipped his hat to the man before turning and parrying an attack behind him. Gandalf was growing increasingly worried about Bilbo Baggins. He hadn’t seen the hobbit since before the battle begun, but still held onto faith that the hobbit was holding his own.

  
Gandalf’s eyes flew to where a luminous blue flash was cutting through orcs and wargs alike then disappearing, like magic. He smiled.

  
Thorin caught sight of Gandalf as he was decapitating an orc. That wizard had the nerve to _smile_ at a time like this? Thorin rolled his eyes in exasperation and went back to the battle at hand. He had lost sight of his kin and was now surrounded by men and orcs. He did his best to protect those around him but for every two orcs slain, one man went down. Thorin paused to wipe the handle of his blade on the one part of his clothing that wasn’t blood stained. Soon there were only two men left standing by him, and Azog was once again seated before him, growling something at him that sounded uncomplimentary.

  
“Run!” Thorin urged the men. “Leave us! Help your fellow fighters!” He knew that the men would be slaughtered in a heartbeat if they stood up to Azog. The men started to protest but the look on his face must have been enough to change their minds. They retreated into the battle again, still in view. The whole battle dimmed from his vision so that all Thorin could see was his enemy and his enemy’s steed. Bringing his blade up to mirror Azog, Thorin accepted his fate with only one regret. _I wish I could see Bilbo Baggins one more time…apologize for my actions and take him to safety_. It was then and only then he realized his true feelings towards the hobbit, but then he knew it was too late to do anything. Thorin Oakenshield was lost now.

  
The white warg left Middle-earth with its throat cut open, leaving its rider to roar in outrage and stumble forward. Both Dwarf King and Pale Orc stood gaping at the dead animal, searching for its killer. Bilbo rolled his eyes at the sight. He decided not to reveal himself just yet. _Maybe I should give Thorin a chance. He might hate me even more if I pick a fight with his worst enemy rather than leaving it to him._ So he waited for their fight to begin.

  
Thorin snapped to his senses first, but Azog followed suit seconds after. At the same time, they lunged for each other. Thorin could see sparks fly as their blades collided. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again and again, strike after strike. Finally Thorin ducked and thrust into Azog’s left leg, making the Pale Orc growl and jump back. Blood streamed from the wound and Thorin almost felt triumphant. But Azog could not be put down so easily. He struck Thorin’s shoulder with surprising force, driving Thorin into kneeling. He felt slightly dizzy, and his vision blurred for a few seconds before coming back into focus. Thorin swung his blade into Azog’s stomach but his strike was parried. Azog looked down at Thorin and laughed a cold, high, laugh with eyes full of hatred. Thorin knew this was the end, at last. He would not look away from Azog’s eyes, would not be the first to back down. Thorin Oakenshield would go down proud.

  
Bilbo could not believe Thorin let himself go down so easily! _I mean really, Thorin? All that for nothing!?_ And Bilbo knew what he had to do. As Azog lifted his blade above his head Bilbo launched himself in front of Thorin.

  
With a sickening slice, Bilbo felt the blade pierce his chest and continue down to his stomach. He had already thrown the ring back into his pocket. Everything began to dim around him, his vision fading quickly. With his last ounce of strength, he plunged Sting into the heart of the Pale Orc. And suddenly, Bilbo felt…peaceful. He had saved Thorin. He could die happy. But there was one more thing he had to say.

  
Bilbo turned to face Thorin, barely able to see anymore. But when he faced Thorin he could see every single detail against the black of everything else. Thorin’s face drenched with tears, eyes tinged with red and filled with horror. “Thorin…” Bilbo’s knees gave out below him. Thorin grabbed for him and he remained still in his arms. “Thorin I…love you...and…I’m sorry…” Bilbo could hear Thorin saying something, _or is he shouting? I can’t tell. No matter…the sound of his voice sure is…lovely…_

  
Bilbo Baggins fell into unconsciousness then.

  
Thorin couldn’t believe his eyes. Bilbo was there! But Bilbo was between him and Azog and- NO! Thorin’s heart felt close to bursting and he tried and failed to move towards his hobbit. He saw Bilbo _kill_ Azog before turning to him. Thorin realized he was crying. “Bilbo! Bilbo, please, stay with me!” He cried. He heard Bilbo speak his name before falling. Thorin grabbed for him and managed to hold him. “Thorin I…love you...and…I’m sorry…” Thorin’s eyes widened as he called out for aid. He saw Bilbo’s eyes flutter closed, and he clutched the hobbit to him as everything else went by in a blur.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo awoke in what he thought was a tent. He couldn’t feel or smell anything, and he could barely see.

  
“…Thorin’s not allowed in this tent, Master Baggins need time to…”

  
“…It’s clear he loves the hobbit. Surely an exception can be…”

  
“…Space to recover! He cannot be pestered…”

  
“…Doubt Thorin would pester the poor hobbit…”

  
“…If Master Baggins is to recover. You would do well to remind him…”

  
“Do you think he will recover?”

  
“I wouldn’t count on it.”

  
A sharp pain pulled Bilbo to awareness, before plunging him back down into the abyss.


	2. In Love and Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo struggles to wake, and company finds him when he does.

The second time Bilbo Baggins awoke, it was very much the same as the first. Except there was no talking- or maybe there was, and he just couldn’t hear it.

Actually, there was one difference he could see. Though his eyes mostly failed him, he knew he was in the same tent, or an identical one. But it was definitely darker here, which begged the question; _how long have I been unconscious?_

For Bilbo was not stupid enough to believe that he was simply sleeping. He remembered every detail, every sharp sensation that had rang through him in the battle. Every emotion that flickered through his mind in the moments he was sure he was going to die, right there, right then.

If he had known he wouldn’t perish on the battlefield, maybe he wouldn’t have said those things to Thorin Oakenshield. True they were, yet Bilbo wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge that Thorin didn’t return his feelings, or worse, still held the gold sickness.

So yes, regret was a prominent emotion in Bilbo’s heart at that moment. As well as fear- the battle had not ended when Bilbo fell. What if his efforts had been in vain? What if Thorin had still fallen in battle, or died from his wounds afterwards? What if someone from the company had fallen…Bilbo could not bring himself to imagine either possibilities. The thought of _any_ of the thirteen having died was too much.

… _Am I still banished?_

A random but relevant thought- Bilbo could be sent away as soon as he was recovered enough to move. He deserved it, after all, he thought. He’d betrayed Erebor, betrayed his company, betrayed the king; betrayed the one he loved most. He’d been branded as a traitor (rightly enough) and cast out. And for what? To stop a battle that raged anyway, despite with different sides.

He could try to explain himself to Thorin, if the dwarf would see him. Now that the battle was over, Thorin had no reason to keep him alive. If Gandalf had not intervened, Thorin would have killed Bilbo himself. What was to stop him now?  

Hope had been something Bilbo was known for during the journey to Erebor. He always tried to be optimistic, always searched for the bright side of situations. If he was being completely honest with himself, (which he was- if one cannot be honest with themself, who can they be honest with?) he’d admit that he held little hope.

And yet, a spark, no matter how little, can still start a fire.

Something appeared in Bilbo’s vision. A dark smudge. As soon as it appeared, it disappeared, but Bilbo’s eyes could not see more than blurs of what was directly above him, so it was probably still near.

A low noise alerted Bilbo that he was right, and the smudge was still there. He tried to turn his head to face left, where the noise had come from, but he had no control over his head. Or…his arms. And probably not- yes, not his legs.

The low noise was slightly louder now, but Bilbo could not make out what it was. If he had to guess, he’d say it was probably someone talking, but Bilbo wasn’t guessing. He was waiting.

_Ears, if you’ve ever loved me…_

The noise got louder again, and Bilbo noted that the noise was a sort of rumbling noise. It was, strangely, nice to listen to. It was calming. Though Bilbo didn’t know what it was, he felt oddly grounded by it. It was much better than the ringing silence that had surrounded him before, anyway.

The noise grew in volume again, but it was still quiet, like someone talking softly. Someone with a deep voice talking softly. _Oh._

Again, with a sense of urgency, Bilbo tried to turn his head towards the ‘smudge’. He failed, but he must have jerked or something similar, because the sound stopped. Bilbo inwardly mourned the loss.

The sound started again, but stopped immediately. It did the same twice more, and Bilbo noted a change in tone. Bilbo repeated the motion of attempting to turn his head, and his head stayed where it was…almost. Just a smidge to the left. But it was enough for Bilbo to be encouraged, and he did it again- a small twitch to the left.

A sudden pressure on his arm (which he could barely feel before) startled him, and sent a shock through his body, setting alight his limbs and torso with an invisible flame. Once more, he tugged his head to the left. His head hit the pillow. Bilbo let out a loud (to his ears) sigh, and rested.

He opened his eyes, which he never noticed closing, and saw blurred blue and black. _Not surprising. It’s dark._ All of Bilbo’s instincts were telling him that _it’s him!_ But Bilbo did not- could not hope.

The noise continued, and still Bilbo could not make sense of it. Bilbo cleared his throat (well, he tried to, but wasn’t very successful). The noise stopped, and Bilbo rasped, “If you’re trying to sp-“ he coughed, “speak, I can’t make out-“ Bilbo coughed again, “what you’re saying.”

Or at least that’s what he tried to say. He wasn’t sure if Th- if the ‘smudge’ could understand him.

There was silence.

Suddenly, the blue and black ‘smudge’ moved towards him. If Bilbo could move, he probably would have thrown himself backwards at the sudden act, but as it was, Bilbo could do nothing. He begged his eyes to give him clear vision, begged his ears to let him hear everything that was happening, but he couldn’t.

Everything was still once more, and then Bilbo felt the pressure on his arm shift. Inwardly he reached out to keep the pressure there.

The pressure shifted so there was only a small point touching his skin. Slowly it began to move across his arm. It drew a line, curved back on itself, and drew two half circles- a ‘B’. The pressure left his arm, but then it came down again, drawing a single line and then poking the skin above it. An ‘i’. This happened again, a line being drawn but having a curve at the bottom, meant to be an ‘l’.

Bilbo believed he knew where this was going, and sure enough, the pattern repeated twice more with the letters ‘b’ and ‘o’. Together spelling ‘Bilbo’. A strangely calming gesture to be sure, but not entirely helpful and not really communicating much. _But I should really be more thankful that…this person…is doing this for me._

Attempting to take matters into his own hands, Bilbo tried to rasp out, “who are you?” hoping this person would not be offended, but then again Bilbo thought he had a good enough reason to be unsure.

However, Bilbo only managed to whisper roughly, “who…” before his voice cut out. _Actually, that’s probably a somewhat less hurtful way of asking._

The pressure on his arm completely disappeared. _Or maybe not,_ Bilbo thought sadly, but he felt another pressure- on his face. His cheek, to be more precise. A hand.

Slowly, very slowly, Bilbo opened his eyes.

He saw a blurred face. However blurred, it was unmistakably the dwarven king’s.

Thorin’s piercing blue eyes were clear to Bilbo despite being reduced to smudges. The shape and colour of his beard in contrast to his skin, and his very long nose were prominent also, and Bilbo couldn’t suppress a small gasp.

Suddenly, Bilbo longed above everything else to see his face in clear detail, and finally, finally his eyes obeyed him. It felt like waking up, as Thorin’s face came into focus, and Bilbo thought he felt himself smile. Bilbo’s eyes devoured what was in front of him, every single hair, shadow and crinkle. But he couldn’t understand the king’s unreadable expression.

So far the king had shown…caring? Was that the word? At least he hadn’t tried to kill Bilbo yet. Bilbo would have called what Thorin had done very intimate, but Thorin was a dwarf, and they greeted each other by head-butting, so that could’ve been anything. But he was here, at least.

Thorin looked away, then back at Bilbo, regret in his face. He pulled away, stroking Bilbo’s hand, then dashed away, looking into Bilbo’s eyes until he was out of view. As if knowing it was no longer needed, Bilbo’s vision all but left him. Bilbo felt relief from a strain he didn’t know was upon him, but part of him mourned the presence of his king.

 

Bilbo stayed awake in the silence long enough to see two blurs walk into the tent, apparently talking animatedly. Almost as soon as they came in, Bilbo was dragged down into the depths of his mind once more.

* * *

 

“…should have known we couldn’t keep him out…”

“…needs to heal! Why can’t he see...”

“…to him, I’m sure he’ll understand…”

“…may, but that doesn’t mean he’ll…”

“…likely not, but what can…”

“…move the hobbit, possibly, so…”

“…him again, and in the hobbit’s delicate…”

“…hope that he may get…”

“I hope, but it’s likely that I hope in vain.”

* * *

 

Thorin hesitated on the outside of Bilbo’s tent. _Technically_ he was allowed to go in- he was the king after all- but there was _something_ that gave him the sense that he was not supposed to enter.

He shook it off and entered the tent. It was empty, except for the hobbit, in bed as he was last time he’d been here. The makeshift chair he’d sat on was still there, so he sat and waited.

As he waited for Bilbo to wake up (if he ever did; he’d been visiting the hobbit every day and most nights for a week and only once had the hobbit actually been awake), Thorin looked around the tent. Nothing was new. It was almost empty, except for the bed, chair and a stool that was probably used by the healers when they came in.

He turned his attention back to Bilbo, who still wasn’t awake. Thorin sighed, and rested his hand on Bilbo’s arm. He didn’t know how long he sat watching the hobbit, but eventually Bilbo stirred.

It was almost more movement than Thorin had seen in the days that he’d been visiting Bilbo, and he sat up straight, eyes fixed on the hobbit’s face.

After a little while, Bilbo opened his eyes. He immediately looked at Thorin, and he smiled. Filled with relief, Thorin smiled back. “Can you hear me this time?” He asked softly.

Bilbo hesitated for a moment, before answering, “I think so.” Thorin nodded.

“I didn’t get a chance to say it before, but I’m sorry.” Thorin made sure he enunciated every word properly.

“It’s not-“ Bilbo coughed, “It’s not your fault.”

Thorin’s mouth opened slightly. He knew that it was- if only he hadn’t been so _weak_ , he could have done _something_ right…but he also didn’t want to spend the little time he had with Bilbo talking about it. That was a subject for another day.

Thorin looked Bilbo over. “You look better than you did a week ago, I see.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in shock. “A-a week?!”

Thorin’s hand shifted on the hobbit’s arm. “You were last awake nearly a week ago, to my knowledge, and the battle- they’re calling it the Battle of Five Armies- was about a week and a half ago.”  

“And you’ve been with me for..?”

Thorin gave Bilbo a small smile. “As much time as I can spare, every day and most nights since I was allowed to leave my tent.” At Bilbo’s eye raise, he elaborated, “Just over a week.”

Bilbo blinked quickly in surprise as he digested this information. _Cute._

“You don’t need to spend your time watching a sleeping hobbit.” Bilbo’s voice did not falter, yet the uncertainty in his voice was enough to make Thorin shake his head in denial.

“It’s not that I need to, but rather that I want to…actually, you could say that I need to. I’m not sure if you remember, but after you’d killed Azog…” Thorin had to stop before his voice broke. He took a deep breath. “You told me you loved me.”

Bilbo’s mouth opened and closed a few times with no words coming out before he whispered, “I remember.”

Slowly, Thorin bent towards Bilbo, moving until Bilbo’s head was underneath his own. He braced himself with an arm either side of the hobbit’s torso, and stopped. Thorin’s eyes searched Bilbo’s face for any sign that he didn’t want this, and found nothing.

He lowered his head ever so slightly, and stopped again. Bilbo’s chest jerked as if he’d tried to move but couldn’t, and then he raised his chin, until he couldn’t anymore.

They shared breaths like this, in a silence that needed no words, and time passed them by slowly. They gazed into each other’s eyes and finally Thorin bent his neck just a tiny bit, resting his lips on Bilbo’s.

Bilbo tilted his chin up the tiniest fraction, but it was enough. It wasn’t exactly a kiss, just a press of lips upon the other.

Eventually Bilbo’s face fell away, and Thorin watched helpless as Bilbo lost control of his head, the hobbit’s eyes panicked and scared until his eyelids drooped closed.

Thorin hefted himself up into standing straight, and hung his head. His hands closed into fists, clenching and unclenching. Thorin reached up and pulled his hair in frustration before he calmed himself, took a few deep breaths and sat down in his chair.

He reached over to take Bilbo’s hand, and at the last minute he pulled it towards him. He kissed Bilbo’s knuckles before placing it back where it had been before, with Thorin’s hand intertwined with it.

Thorin waited.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the second chapter! Because for some reason, people subscribed to this (second chapter might be why). 
> 
> So this is kind of...a reward? for people who subscribed. :)


	3. In Love and Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the company and more have to heal too, and they're not exactly oblivious to their king and burglar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter one this time, sorry! _And_ sorry for the wait! Gah! I'm a mess.

Balin had been watching the healers go about their business for some time now. He knew he’d have to focus on the rebuilding of Erebor soon, but he couldn’t really do that without Thorin, and Thorin was…well, who knew where the king was these days? According to the healers tending to him, as soon as he’d been well enough to stand he’d been out of the tent. This would be completely normal except for the fact that Thorin was nowhere to be seen.

Balin himself was almost completely fine. He’d gotten wounds, yes, but mere scratches compared to what Balin had dealt with in the battle of Azanulbizar. His hair couldn’t get any whiter, anyway.

His brother, in contrast, was still not allowed to leave his bed. Dwalin, when he thought about it, considered that, with a wound such as his own (a scar across his waist) it was better that he remained in bed.  However, Dwalin didn’t use his mind for thoughts like that when he didn’t know the fate of his fellow company, and couldn’t use his mind for much more interesting topics, such as:

a)      Were any of the company members dead?

b)      According to the healers’ conversations he eavesdropped on, the continual absence of his king

c)       How long would it take for him to get better?

d)      Lying in bed all day is _boring…_

Oin in fact could confirm that all members of the company were alive. He’d personally seen to all of them. Because of this, he could also answer questions he may have been asked by Dwalin or Balin if he’d let them- the whereabouts of Thorin II Oakenshield. He wouldn’t judge- he’d seen what the death of a friend could to do to people, and he hoped for everyone’s sake that the company’s dear burglar pulled through.

Fili and Kili, faced with this news, would smirk and ‘innocently’ suggest that _maybe,_ just _maybe_ their _dear burglar_ was more than just a friend to Thorin, and that they’d seen the signs and couldn’t wait to make fun of their uncle…as soon as they were able to leave their tent. Kili had broken his left arm and right leg defending his uncle before they were separated, and Fili had received a black eye, had multiple stab wounds on his torso, and had a limp from a nearly healed bone chip in his left ankle.

Ori was not as bored as most of the patients as he’d been smuggled his notebook and pen (Dwalin had been severely told off later, but he thought it’d been worth it). He’d been quite content- he had been knocked unconscious and in the time he was asleep, his stomach had been cut open. However, he had not felt the pain until he’d woken up, and by that time he’d been numbed. Apart from an inconsistent headache, Ori felt cheerful.

He was documenting the quest to Erebor again; he hadn’t had much time to do so in the wake of Thorin catching the gold sickness.

_The elves and men gathered at the gates of Erebor. The fourteen of us met them there, and once again they requested a payment of gold. But this time was different- this time they had a deal to make with us. In return for the gold they wanted, they would give us ~~a sex doll~~ something we had not known they possessed; the Arkenstone._

Ori did not know how to proceed. What happened next, they were all ashamed of. Not one of them had tried to stop Thorin as he grasped Bilbo between his hands, seeming to want to wring the life out of him. Their king had been about to throw their hobbit down to the rocks, and probably would have if Gandalf had not stopped him. At the time, the company was more surprised at the betrayal of their hobbit than at Thorin’s behaviour. Nobody, at the time, cared that Bilbo’s life was nearly taken.

It had been a bad day.

Nori was still having a bad day. He’d torn his many stitches going to visit Bilbo Baggins, to find the hobbit’s healers in discussion about his wounds. As usual, Nori eavesdropped. What else was he supposed to do?

According to these loose-lipped dwarves, Bilbo had been unconscious for most of the time since the battle had ended. His wounds, as far as Nori heard, were as follows:

  *          A gaping stab wound in his side
  *          A weirdly-shaped head wound (swollen)
  *          A cavernous tear from his chest to the bottom of his stomach
  *          A spiralling slash across the back of his shoulder (probably not intended for him)



He’d also found out that their king spent a lot of time in the burglar’s tent, to the annoyance of his healers. It was understandable, Nori supposed, as Thorin hadn’t been the nicest of fellows to Bilbo in Erebor. No doubt Fili and Kili were feeling similar. They also probably had something to say on the subject of Bilbo and Thorin’s friendship too.

Not having much to do, with almost constant supervision after he’d been found to have torn his stitches, he pondered over the information he had found out. It was also strange, he thought, that after the battle so many elves, dwarrow and men were working together to heal the wounded. A lot had changed in such a short space of time.

Gandalf, personally, was very happy with these changes. He knew better than to think that the battle had changed the relationships between elves and dwarves, yet he held out hope that maybe they could learn from this, tolerate each other, and attempt to bridge the gap between the races that had opened when Smaug came to Erebor, as well as long before.

The wizard had visited Thranduil and his son, Legolas, soon after the battle had ended and the injured were being tended to. Thranduil, as his hearing was incredible compared to most, had also been able to keep tabs on their hobbit friend. He’d been slipping in to his tent to give him herbs of healing that perhaps may not have been spared otherwise. Though not entirely sure why, he’d developed a bit of a soft spot for the hobbit, and he dearly hoped that he’d pull through. If not for his own sake, then for that of the stubborn dwarf king’s.

Legolas was a bit more distanced, but all the same when he made his rounds around the elf tents, he checked in on Bilbo too. For educational purposes, of course. After all, it’s not often a hobbit wanders out of the Shire. And if Legolas prayed to the Valar for Bilbo’s swift recovery? Well, that’s his business.

Apparently it was also Gloin’s business, it seemed, because he always watched the elf with distrustful eyes when he neared their hobbit’s tent. With his minor injuries, he felt it his duty to watch over Bilbo when no-one else could spare the time, dealing with many injuries and deaths as they were. Similarly, Bombur felt it _his_ duty to cook for the hobbit the dishes he’d enjoyed on his way to Erebor when they’d had access to good ingredients. Sometimes he’d have to literally feed him, but as long as it was keeping him mostly healthy, Bombur was doing his part.

Bifur and Bofur were good with their hands especially, so they’d been needed in other areas of the camp most times. They made sure to check on the company, including their king and burglar. Conveniently, they both tended to be found in the same place. When they weren’t, Bofur would carve next to him, going through the motions and describing the process just in case Bilbo could hear him. Bifur, though unable to say anything Bilbo would really understand, felt it best to hold the hobbit’s hand and stay with him, for company’s sake. Sometimes he sang old khuzdul songs for him.

Those were Bilbo’s favourite times.

Dori, being the mother hen that he was, was constantly checking with the elves for any sign of improvement and spreading the news to the other members of the company. He himself had gotten a nasty gash down his arm, and a broken toe, but other than that he was right as rain. His brothers were safe, and Bilbo. Was. Going. To make it.

Thorin was in quite a similar mind-set himself, spending all the time that he could spare with the hobbit. Elf healers sometimes shooed him out but he’d always come back in. He wouldn’t leave his Bilbo alone, not this time. Not ever again.

Bilbo knew bits and pieces of this. Although not as confident in himself as the others seemed to be, he _was_ trying quite hard to heal. He’d prove his worth to his king. He just needed to wake up.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. This was originally going to have that neutral ending of the first chapter, you know...


End file.
